


Avocado Toast: The Musical

by ElectroPoisonWaves



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Avocado Toast, Gen, I have a weird sense of humor, M/M, Plotless and pointless, dont @ me, vaccinate your fucking kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-20 03:43:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19985530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElectroPoisonWaves/pseuds/ElectroPoisonWaves
Summary: “I cannot wait to try this new restaurant,” Aziraphale said. “Are you sure it’s good?”“No,” Crowley said, opening the Bentley’s doors.Truthfully, he had never actually cared to try it, but since the hipsters he had sold some “healing quartz” to really raved about it, it would at least be an experience.





	Avocado Toast: The Musical

**Author's Note:**

> If you came for The Musical, then I don't know how to break this to you: there is no musical. I have just always wanted to write something that said "The Musical" in the title. #followyourdreams

“I cannot wait to try this new restaurant,” Aziraphale said. “Are you sure it’s good?”

“No,” Crowley said, opening the Bentley’s doors.

Truthfully, he had never actually cared to try it, but since the hipsters he had sold some “healing quartz” to really raved about it, it would at least be an experience. Plus, it was a good excuse to take Aziraphale out.

The whole healing crystal business was really taking off. It was one of his newer schemes that was readily eaten up by people with too much money on their hands and no desire to do something useful with it. His “Spiritual Cleansing Basics” set (three pieces of balsa wood and a rose quartz “inspired” rock, tied together with some ripped up fabric, $18 plus tax, more in canada) was a best seller in various upscale hipster stores.

The greatest part of this entire enterprise? The anti-vax community ate this shit up. No joke. And Crowley donated all of his proceeds to the World Health Organization for their universal vaccination efforts. These anti-vaxxers were therefore supporting the very industry they believed was out to “poison” them (and their children, of course).

There was an art to micro aggressions, and Crowley was its master. And this scheme was by his finest: it could not backfire in his face, unlike some of his other projects.

“Did you hear about it from those hippies you sell those overpriced rocks to? You know, I truly feel that what you’re doing is outright fraud, my dear.”

“Nah, it’s not fraud, it’s _Alternative Facts_. It’s a thing now. You can’t call it a lie anymore, that’s not politically correct,” Crowley replied.

“Are you sure that’s how it works?” Aziraphale asked, as he popped open the Bentley’s glove compartment. “You know, I never truly understood all that, seems a bit of an oxymoron to me, alternative facts. Facts can be either true or false, not both. But of course, I do try so hard to be politically correct.”

He pushed back some old Queen CDs, a lightning cable for iPhone, what looked to be an old parking ticket with some directions written on the back—

“Oh, that’s it,” Crowley said. “I wrote it down on the back of that slip of paper.”

“This is a parking ticket.”

“I have no plans to pay it. What does it say on the back?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale handed him the paper. “I can’t tell if you’ve drawn a map or written down words,” he replied.

Crowley studied it before crumpling the ticket into a ball that turned to a pile of ash that blew away as they drove.

***

The table they sat at had tiny succulents, in equally tiny pots. Crowley resisted the temptation to knock one off the table.

Aziraphale tucked his napkin into his collar so that it protected his shirt.

“My treat this time,” Crowley said. “Thank you for help in my newest… er, scheme.”

“Lovely scheme you have going. Helping global vaccination rates, really tip top; truthfully you are a—”

“No no no stop no… don’t say it! _And_ immediately stop thinking it!” Crowley said. “Purely selfish wiles of mine. I just don’t want to go back to the 14th century, what with pestilence and… flies and all of that.”

Aziraphale gave him a shy little smirk.

Crowley hurriedly summoned the waiter.

“What’s the most popular dish?” Crowley asked the waiter who was now pouring them water from a pitcher filled with sliced cucumbers and lemons.

“That would be a number three,” the waiter said. “It’s the avocado—”

“We’ll take it,” Crowley interjected.

He had to have only the best. This was a given.

“Two orders, then?” the waiter asked.

Crowley’s phone started ringing. A quick check of the caller ID and he knew that he would have to take this. He was expanding his crystal “healing” business and was hoping to market them in some more high end, overpriced stores.

The chief buyer for Goop was finally calling him back.

“I am so sorry, angel. I must take this. Getting ahold of this person has been needlessly difficult,” Crowley said, before turning back to the waiter. “Yes, two orders, a la carte.”

“Good luck, dear,” Aziraphale replied.

Crowley headed to the door where he could take the phone call in quiet, leaving Aziraphale with the waiter.

“Lavender and oat milk latte? How exactly do you get the milk from the oats?” he heard Aziraphale say just as he closed the door behind him.

***

Crowley had been gone all of five minutes. Not even.

He had hurried back as quickly as he could manage, expecting to see the toast. There were simply two empty plates, with some bread crumbs scattered about.

And Aziraphale sat there looking guilty, nibbling on the crust of a sandwich.

Crowley pulled out his chair with a loud squeak. It was obnoxious and loud and disturbed the fine couple at the next table over, who gave him some serious side eye.

 _Another fabulous microaggression,_ Crowley thought proudly.

“Where’s the toast?” Crowley asked, making sure to put his phone on silent. No more interruptions. It was Angel Time.

“Toast?” Aziraphale hesitated. He put the sandwich down.

“Yes, the avocado toast I ordered us.”

“Oh dear. That explains quite a bit,” Aziraphale said, folding and unfolding his napkin.

“What does?”

“There was a bit of a misunderstanding, you see. For some reason they, and here I mean the wait staff, naturally, brought out what looked to be _one_ sandwich on _two_ different plates. That is, one slice to a plate. Very small pieces of _artisan_ bread, mind you,” Aziraphale said.

“And?”

“Well, it was a bit of a mess really, with the arugula and tomato sliding off— which I might add are standard _sandwich_ toppings so this is a very easy mistake to make…” Aziraphale paused to catch his breath.

“Anyway, you know that I really rather not trouble the staff, as I so _dislike_ sending food back, since of course it would just be a real hindrance on an already _very_ underpaid and overworked industry, and seeing as I also do not want to insult the chef, who I imagine worked _very_ hard to get to where they are today—” 

“Stop,” Crowley said, putting his hand up. “I know where this is going. They brought out two toasts, and you truly believed that the chef, who worked very hard to get to where they are today, did not know how to make a sandwich. So as to not offend them, you put the two slices together to make what you are currently eating.”

“That is a very succinct way to put it, yes.”

Crowley did not have words. The things this angel would do so as to not “inconvenience” other people!

“To my credit, the toast did not look like toast. It… well, it _looked_ like an incomplete sandwich.”

“Huh.”

The waiter came over and presented Crowley with two avocado toasts. 

“Oh good! Yours has arrived,” Aziraphale said. “I had to order another two for you, naturally.”

“Fresh ground pepper?” the waiter asked, carefully holding a wooden pepper grinder poised over the toast.

“No, no, save yourself the effort,” Crowley said to him. “I know how underpaid and overworked you are.”

The waiter looked marginally confused as he eyed Aziraphale’s sandwich before walking away.

Crowley put the two pieces of toast together.

“What is toast if not an incomplete sandwich?” he mumbled, mostly to himself, taking a big bite of the sandwich.

“Amen,” Aziraphale answered.

 _This man is so stupid,_ Crowley thought. _I fucking love him._

**Author's Note:**

> I've become a connoisseur of avocado toast this past month, and I can safely assure you that some variations are just one slice of bread away from being an actual sandwich. I do not have a problem with this.
> 
> The "crystal healing" stuff is a real thing. I legit saw some balsa wood and quartz (for spiritual cleansing, per tag instructions) at Anthropologie for $18. asdgkdsfjdskl. I wanted to take a picture of it but I realized that many people do not understand how funny this truly is. They would not understand as they were *unironically* shopping there and saw absolutely nothing ridiculous about the overpriced balsa wood/rocks. I would look crazy taking pictures of it... I should have done it.
> 
> Crowley is responsible for the rocks. I just know it. 
> 
> PSA: Vaccinate your fucking kids, Karen. Don't @ me.


End file.
